CH 23

There were many comments under that post, but Yu Zhou didn’t bother to read them.

She could easily imagine that her fans must be quite concerned about her.

Yu Zhou exited Su Chang’s main page before noticing that the time was exactly 3:03 AM, her birthday – what a coincidence! So, she posted a Weibo: “,”

She had a rebellious streak, staying up late as if it were some kind of badge of honor. Every time she stayed up late, she would habitually post a Weibo as a mark.

The reason for posting a comma every time was her mischievous mentality – it wasn’t as smooth as a period and wasn’t supposed to stand on its own. With its tiny tail, it could drive people with obsessive-compulsive disorder crazy.

It was hilarious to her.

As usual, after she posted, she prepared to go to sleep. Suddenly, there were two or three comments asking her, “Why aren’t you asleep yet, author sama?”

Only then did she realize that times had changed; she had become a popular Weibo account with thousands of followers. Posting these seemingly random and incomplete Weibos could really trigger those with OCD.

More importantly, those comments reminded her that times indeed had changed. Su Chang had followed her, so it was no longer like the old days when Yu Zhou could just view her main page casually.

She contemplated deleting her post but thinking that Su Chang must be asleep already, so there shouldn’t be any issues.

As she habitually refreshed the timeline, Su Chang posted another Weibo: “?”

Wow, that’s quite sarcastic.

Su Chang uploaded a photo, then Yu Zhou posted a comma, followed by Su Chang’s question mark. Their posts were like indirect responses to each other, confusing.

If Yu Zhou had followed more people, their posts wouldn’t have been so closely intertwined on the main timeline. Unluckily, she followed only a handful of people, and since it was the middle of the night, the three consecutive posts stuck out like a sore thumb.

Yu Zhou knew that not many people followed both her and Su Chang. Even if they did, they would likely also follow several hundred others, so their timelines would hardly consist only of her and Su Chang’s posts. And even if that were the case, it was unlikely that people would read too much into it.

But still, she felt guilty.

She promptly deleted her post, after which she refreshed the page, making sure her post was no longer sandwiched between Su Chang’s two posts.

No one would have taken a screenshot, right?

However, for some reason, after she deleted her post, Su Chang’s two posts appeared oddly disconnected, almost pitiable.

As expected, the comment section beneath Su Chang’s posts exploded. One after another, people asked what was wrong under her Weibo and in her super topic.

What happened to Ms.Su? What’s wrong with Changchang? What’s the matter with Susu?

Please say something, laopo. My heart is breaking seeing you like this.

My darling, my baby, is something upsetting you?

Rumors began to brew; some comments even speculated whether the crew had caused her distress or if she had encountered any excessive drama. After a while, people began listing the audio dramas she was currently recording. Yu Zhou felt a little guilty, as if she had messed things up, even though Su Chang’s Weibo might not have had anything to do with her.

As the number of comments skyrocketed, Su Chang posted a comment in the Weibo comment section: “Everything’s fine, just got off work, good night.”

She was reassuring her fans.

The sentiment in the comment section changed again. The general consensus was: that was a big scare but as long as Su Chang speaks up more in the future, her fans would be willing to accept such scares.

It was a bit frightening for Yu Zhou, experiencing the so-called power of public opinion for the first time in her life.

It seemed that she couldn’t be too capricious since her actions carried the concern and love of many people, even if she had just posted two ambiguous Weibo updates.

That night, Yu Zhou found herself unable to sleep. Despite the throbbing in her temples, she tossed and turned in bed.

The amount of information she had encountered throughout the day was likely too much, entirely different from the days when she stayed at home, eating and sleeping.

So the next day, Xiang Wan saw Yu Zhou with two huge dark circles under her eyes.

On the other hand, Xiang Wan was radiant, as if the person who had suffered from diarrhea the previous night was someone else entirely.

However, looking radiant doesn’t mean she won’t be lazy. Xiang Wan was lying in bed, not wanting to get up even when Yu Zhou called her to eat.

“Don’t you have any sympathy?” Yu Zhou pointed to her dark circles, indicating the effort she put into ordering takeout early in the morning.

“You don’t expect to eat in bed, do you?”

“May I?” Xiang Wan asked, her beautiful face buried in the pillow.

“Lying down while eating?” Yu Zhou laughed while leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“You can support me to sit up and then spoon feed me.”

How shameless, Xiang Wan said with such a gentle and humble tone, as if she was really considering the needs of others.

“I was sick yesterday, I need to recuperate for ten days,” Xiang Wan said.

“Ha ha ha ha!” Yu Zhou laughed so hard from annoyance. “How did you come up with that?”

Xiang Wan gazed at her with bright eyes: “Every time I’ve taken medicine in the past, the doctor would always tell me to rest quietly. Half a month is a bit long, I think it’s not necessary.”

The implication was that she had diligently deduced the ten-day period.

Yu Zhou reached out her hand, gesturing for her to take it and get up. “We don’t have that rule here. Look at you, even the kitten Wanwan is not as active as you.”

Xiang Wan was still burying her head in the pillow, unwilling to get up.

“What’s wrong?” Yu Zhou said, sounding like an old mother as she sat down beside her, giving her a gentle pat. “Weren’t you usually quite diligent before?”

“It was all an act, a pretense, a forced facade,” Xiang Wan replied gloomily.

When Xiang Wan was at home, she usually had people waiting on her hand and foot. She had been strong for so long that she almost forgot how to show vulnerability to others.

Finally, when the opportunity came, she refused to get out of bed.

Understood, now that we’re familiar, you’re just throwing a tantrum, aren’t you?

Yu Zhou snorted before suddenly furrowing her brows, “Ouch… I just thought of something, Xiang Wan.”

Xiang Wan tilted her head, revealing one eye from behind the pillow to look at her.

“You’ve been here for over a month, and I’ve had my period already. What about you?”

Xiang Wan blinked, appearing a bit stunned.

“Your period, menstrual cycle, whatever you want to call it. Don’t play dumb.”

Xiang Wan hesitated for a moment, seemingly struggling to answer.

This amused Yu Zhou. She had initially thought to explain that having an irregular period after time-traveling was normal due to changes in magnetic fields, but Xiang Wan seemed to genuinely consider it.

“Oh my God,” she said, looking Xiang Wan up and down. “Don’t tell me… you’re a man?”

Xiang Wan’s eyebrows shot up, visibly annoyed.

Yu Zhou couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, finding it amusing to see her so angry, like a pufferfish.

“You can check.” Xiang Wan said, turning onto her back to lie flat, staring at Yu Zhou. She threw the blanket off, ready for inspection. Turn the tables.

Wow, the little girl is bold.

“Where should I check, then? Top or bottom?” Yu Zhou teased with her eyes moving ambiguously.

“You…” Xiang Wan felt offended. Yu Zhou raised an eyebrow towards her, insinuatingly. Could people in the Li Dynasty even compete in making risqué jokes with someone from the modern age?

“Get up quickly, or there’ll be no food for you today.” Yu Zhou stood up, contemplating applying a facial mask.

Ten minutes later, Xiang Wan reluctantly emerged, slumping as she walked to the dining table. She opened the lid of the preserved egg and lean pork congee on her own, sipping her breakfast with a hint of resentment.

It was indeed unfair. People were expected to recover from a midnight ailment by morning; Xiang Wan couldn’t help but feel slightly detached from this modern world.

After a few bites of preserved egg and lean pork congee, she began to warm up to and like it again.

Seeing her face brighten, Yu Zhou said, “We don’t have any plans today. I’ll write, and you can practice using the video Director Peng gave you. In the afternoon, I’ll set you up with a Weibo account.”

“Weibo?”

“Yes. In addition to accepting orders on WeChat, you can also look for voice acting opportunities from the casting notices posted by voice acting clubs in the Weibo super-topic forum. It’s free, but the threshold is relatively low. You can start with small roles like passersby or support voice actors and work your way up.”

“I see.”

“Then tomorrow, I’ll go to the recording studio alone. You don’t need to come, alright?”

“Why?” Xiang Wan was puzzled. “Didn’t you say that I should learn?”

“You’re just too astonishing, and I’m afraid.”

Xiang Wan stirred her congee and stared at her, head tilted. “You’re not afraid of me; you’re afraid of Miss Su.”

“What should I be afraid of her for?”

“Afraid that she misunderstands, afraid that she will get unhappy.”

“You’re overthinking it.”

Xiang Wan’s eyelashes drooped, and perhaps feeling chastised by Yu Zhou this morning, she couldn’t help but feel upset as well.

“You always say that Miss Su is the favored one, and that everything revolves around her. Worrying about her emotions, empathizing with her hardships.”

“But.” Thinking about her inability to get spoiled even when she was sick, Xiang Wan felt a sting of bitterness in her heart, and her voice lowered.

“I, too, used to be the cherished pearl.”